Empajo was twenty years old, tall and lean—only half a head shorter than Gawen, standing about five foot nine.
Her light brown hair was loosely tied back, carrying both a trace of feminine grace and the brisk air of a huntress.
Her lightly tanned skin was a shade deeper than most, with a slightly rough texture.
Muscles flowed beneath her frame, firm but not bulky.
Most women in House Crabb's domain worked the fields and hunted alongside the men. For one of them, Empajo was considered well-kept.
She wore a coarse brown robe of rough hemp with the sleeves cut away to bare her arms, its hem stopping mid-thigh, a thick rope cinched at the waist.
Straps bound her shins, and straw sandals covered her feet.
Perhaps feeling his gaze, Empajo's toes flexed inside her sandals.
Being summoned before the lord personally—and so suddenly—made even a famed hunter like Empajo nervous.
"Empajo, they say you once killed a black bear?"
Though Gawen's voice still carried a touch of youth, it was steady, marked by a maturity beyond his years. The tone seemed to calm her nerves.
"Someone was helping nearby. I just landed more of the shots."
After a few casual exchanges to put her at ease, he asked, "Would you fight for me?"
"Against the hill tribes? I've killed plenty of them—at least ten. They often trespass into our hunting grounds, even trying to steal our game."
A little too literal-minded—he rephrased.
"You're brave. What I mean is, would you join my household guard? Like the men training in the yard. I'll grant you iron armor and a sword."
She blinked, startled, and he continued, "At least two gold dragons a year."
"It depends on your performance—spoils of war will bring even more."
"I'll do it, my lord," she said quickly.
Then, as if needing to confirm, "But… I'm a woman. They're all men. Wouldn't that…"
The household guard of House Crabb had always been male. What she worried about was being ostracized—not harassed. Lewd jokes she could handle; if any man went too far, she'd cut him down. She was strong enough.
"That's a fair point," Gawen agreed. "Sometimes the spearwives accompany my guards into battle, but not as formal combatants—just for simple tasks. No one minds that, but formal inclusion is different."
"And mixing men and women in close quarters all the time causes unnecessary trouble."
Empajo nodded vigorously—exactly what she'd thought, but hadn't known how to say. The lord was wise.
"You're well-known among the spearwives. If I send you to recruit, how many could you gather?"
"They could all serve as guards, right? I know twenty, thirty good huntresses personally."
"I'm forming a unit made up entirely of spearwives, called the Thorn Legion."
(A tribute to the Queen of Thorns, the old lady herself.)
"We're about to fight. Recruit as many as you can—especially those willing to fight alongside men, and those without men of their own. The key is that they follow your orders. You will command the Thorn Legion."
With his patient explanation, Empajo understood completely. Her chest rose and fell, trying to contain her excitement, her bright eyes locked on his.
Gawen's tone grew serious. "Empajo, can I trust you?"
In the study, only Gawen, Empajo, and Maester Arl were present. The maester sat quietly in a corner, as if asleep.
How to prove it?She glanced at the silent Arl, eyes flicking sideways, then bit her lip as if making a decision. "Prove it… now?"
One brow lifted. He nodded calmly.
Swish—swish.
Empajo shed every scrap of clothing from her body.
Her cheeks flushed as she stared at him, reminding Gawen of a mother leopard.
His pupils widened, then narrowed. He turned his head slightly. "Ahem. Good figure."
At some point, Maester Arl had "woken," baring his few remaining teeth in a trembling grin—and even winked at Gawen.
Finally, even the thick-skinned Empajo sensed something was wrong, hastily covering herself.
"That's not what I meant. Put your clothes back on. Still, it's an honor to have appreciated your… charms. A pleasant day, indeed."
Dressed again, her face was still scarlet; her toes could have dug two new moats for Whispers Hall.
"Empajo, kneel. Ahem—one knee. You're my warrior now."
With that little interlude behind them, work resumed.
"Repeat after me: I, Empajo—"
"I, Empajo…"
"—swear my loyalty, to love whom he loves, and hate whom he hates."
"…swear my loyalty, to love whom he loves, and hate whom he hates."
"I vow that my every word and deed, my every act and motion, will be guided by the will of Gawen Crabb, without the slightest defiance."
"…will be guided by the will of Gawen Crabb, without the slightest defiance."
"From this day until my death."
"From this day until my death."
"In the name of the Old and the New, I swear it."
"In the name of the Old and the New, I swear it."
A silken drizzle veiled all of Whispers Hall.
Outside the gates—
A girl of sixteen or seventeen waited, clad in an orange short robe over leather armor, an old hunting bow slung over her back.
She was short and slim, yet sharp in bearing.
Her name was Raina—brown-skinned, silver-haired, her hair tied in a high ponytail.
Bored, she glanced again and again toward the gates.
At last, Empajo appeared. Raina sprang up nimbly.
"Hey, mother leopard—did Lord Gawen finally let you out? How was the experience?"
Empajo stopped before her with an exasperated look. "Little Raina, in heat again?"
She stepped aside, letting the girl see the deep-blue cloak embroidered with a golden marsh marigold.
Raina wiped rain from her face, eyes widening.
"A marsh marigold? That's House Crabb's sigil! Empajo, are you insane? They'll hang you for that. Even if the lord spares you, the Others will snap your neck. Give it back—no, don't pull me—let's run, now!"
"Stop, stop. It's not what you think."
"Ohhh, so…"
Raina arched a brow, smirking. "Did the mother leopard's passion please the lord? Is that a reward?"
Empajo's cheeks reddened; she put a hand to her face with a sigh. "Raina, stop guessing. Shut your mouth and listen."
The cloak, embroidered with House Crabb's crest, was Gawen's gift. In the domain, wearing such a cloak marked one's rank. Until now, only Ser Pell and Ser Marsen had borne one.
Her mission was urgent—this cloak was meant to boost her authority among the spearwives she would recruit. It was a reward in advance.
Whether she could keep it would depend on her ability.
Gawen's test had already begun.
When she finished explaining, Raina grinned. "That's amazing—good news indeed! Plenty of the sisters will join."
"Come on, what are we waiting for? Deal with a few troublemakers and you'll have a hundred, maybe two hundred."
"Ha! Rob the gold, steal the men!"
"Oh—and as Thorn Legion commander, sign me up first!"
Her words came rapid-fire, one after another, leaving Empajo no room to speak.
But Raina's good mood was infectious, even for the usually stoic Empajo.
Smiling, she nodded, and without realizing, both women quickened their pace.
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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